


combining red, yellow, and blue

by kintou



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Artists, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, M/M, Oneshot, jeanmarco fluff, jeanmarco oneshot, shortstory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-10-16 13:19:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17550431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kintou/pseuds/kintou
Summary: Jean is an artist who thinks every job is the same, until he gets asked to paint the cover for Marco’s book; before he knows it he has starts painting the freckled writer a lot more than the job needs him to do.





	combining red, yellow, and blue

**I**

 

I looked through the mail on my phone one more time before knocking on the green door.  _ Portrait Writer _ , is what the title of the mail says. Even though it was better than another portrait for a banker or president of some heartless company (portraits to fuel ego’s), it paid less. Whatever, I hadn’t gotten a commision in a while and I needed the money. My agent usually knows I want the ones that pay most. 

He had said this one would be fun. 

I like drawing people. Just not strangers who need an egoboost by seeing their face being more beautiful than it is in real life. 

I scrolled down and looked through the rest of the mail. Doesn’t need to be photorealistic, doesn’t have to be a face if the writer agrees, the name of the book, and the name of the writer. Marco Bodt, 28 years old. 

I knocked the door. I wondered if he had seen me standing in front of his house for minutes now, if he had glanced through the curtains he would have seen me staring at my phone. He was quick to open the door. There was a grin on his face and a cup of coffee in his right hand. He was wearing a thick dark red sweater. It was quite a cosy sight.

‘Hello!’ he greeted me cheerfully, while stepping aside so I could come in.

‘Hey,’ I walked inside, watched him take his coffee into his left hand, before offering me his right hand. He had a firm grip, but not so that it seemed like he was trying to prove anything. 

‘You probably already know, but I’m Marco.’ 

I smiled. Let go of his warm hand. I wondered if he had noticed how cold my hand had been. He didn’t say anything about it.  

‘Jean Kirschtein, the you know, painter. You know that, of course.’ 

He nodded cheerfully, laughed a little. ‘Is it alright if I call you Jean?’ 

‘Jean’s fine, really. That’s better than my surname, we’re the same age.’ 

‘Yeah,’  so he knew that too. We walked into the kitchen. It was a nice warm kitchen. He had brown tiles on the floor and wooden counters. The rest of the kitchen was white, with art on the wall and plants hanging from every high counter. There were even a few hanging from the roof. All of the plants were big and green, unlike the ones I sometimes tried to take care of. ‘I looked at your portfolio online. Your age was on there too, that’s why I know.’ He was blushing, even though looking into someone's work before you’ll do a project with them is nothing but normal. I mean, that’s kind of what a portfolio is for right? ‘I really liked your work. I’m feeling kind of honored that you’ll paint my cover. I must admit though, my company said that you’d do something like a portrait, that that’s what you do for work and commissions- but I like your other work better. Those pieces were amazing.’ 

I didn’t know what to tell him. Those pieces were done because I felt the need to. Because I really felt something. I loved someone, I was upset with someone, I missed someone. I loved those works. But I also knew that a his portrait, one that other people had planned for me to make, would never be like that. I had to know a person before I could draw them like that. Through and through. I couldn’t just draw a stranger in that style. 

‘Thank you.’ That’s what I went with. I didn’t bother to explain anything more. 

He pointed me to a chair and asked me if I wanted a drink. I told him I wanted some coffee. He didn’t have a coffee machine so he patiently started making the coffee by hand. He seemed like a guy who drank a lot of coffee, so he must’ve just liked it better that way. I watched him make the coffee. I watched his big hands, his fingers were not slender nor thick. They looked strong, I guess. There were freckles all over his hands, most of them had gathered in the middle of his hands or near his knuckles, his fingers were a little bit calmer. 

While looking at his hands I got the urge to draw them. I was shocked about it myself. His hands had something unique that made the feeling I usually had while out for a job fade. 

He turned around, a cup in his hands, said something to me. Oh, he said something to me. 

‘Hah, s-sorry?’ 

‘Do you want anything in the coffee? Sugar?-’ 

‘Oh no. Black, please.’ 

I took out my sketchbook. ‘I have an idea, so may I?’ 

He just nodded and sat down on the other side of the table. He looked at me while I got out all the pencils I needed. ‘Is this a good place to work?’ he asked. 

‘Whatever works. Sit where you want to sit. Let me sketch this first though.’ 

He nodded, slowly, watched me as I took my pencils and notebook out of my bag. When I started sketching he seemed to realise that I wasn’t going to move to another spot, and sat down on the chair in front of me. I drew his hands, drew the freckles, his short but clean fingernails, his darker skin. He stared at my hands as they moved, intensely. He made me nervous. I mentally slapped myself; I was just doing my job. Nothing more. It wasn’t a big deal. Usually it really wasn’t, drawing while people were watching had never really been a problem to me. 

‘You can talk if you want to.’ I told Marco. 

He made a soft, surprised noise before he started to speak. ‘I like watching you draw.’ 

Fucking mayday. ‘T-tell me about that book of yours.’ 

I drew the cup in his hands, the coffee inside of it as dark as possible.

‘Well.. It’s a book about a family in Italy. I went there, last year. Uh.. yeah it’s a very slow built, realistic book. It’s really about a very traditional family reacting to well.. me.. someone who, in their eyes, is too modern and open minded. More than that an outsider.’ 

I nodded, flipped the page of my sketching book.

‘It sounds a little simple like that,’ he said ‘It’s hard to put it into words.’ 

‘No, I understand. It sounds good.’ I took a sip of my coffee. The coffee was really good. I wondered what kind of beans he used, decided not to ask; to just start drawing one of his eyes. ‘I really get that; trying to explain your choices to an old fashioned family. It really sucks. I guess we’re in the same boat with that one.’

I looked up, stared into his eyes. They were a deep colour of brown, quite big and round. His lashes were really thick. The bags under his eyes were quite minimal, for a writer. The best thing about his eyes were his laughing wrinkles; already visible when he wasn’t even smiling. I could only imagine how deep they’d get when he would actually laugh. Like really, really laugh, genuinely. I also wondered what it would take to have him laugh like that. If I was capable of doing such a thing. The more I looked at him, the more I realised that he was pretty, no, handsome.

I drew his lashes slowly. He was staring at me, probably awkward because of the way I had stared at him seconds before. 

‘You really started working right away,’ he noted. 

I nodded. ‘It’s a good sign. It means inspiration came easy.’ 

He smiled, almost grinned. ‘Good.’ 

‘Yeah. I think- I guess- that’s you’ll be nice to paint.’ 

His grin biggened, it threw my heart for a damn loop. ‘Is it the freckles?’

I stared at his nose, his tanned skin, his laughing wrinkles, his broad shoulders and his warm smile, at last I looked at his freckles too. They were nice, but everything about him was warm and strong. I liked that feeling.

‘Yeah, I think it’s the freckles.’ 

 

I had done a few studies when I told him he could move more than he had done. As soon as I did, he walked to his record player and took out some vinyl.  ‘Can you work with music on?’ I just nodded, drawing more and more freckles. ‘Do you have any suggestions?’ he asked then. 

I shrugged. ‘Soul, blues, jazz, old rock, something like that?.’

He looked through his records and eventually put on some Buddy Guy. It was nice music to draw on. It made me want more coffee, and something to smoke. 

As if he had read my mind he put on some more coffee, put the pot of the table, and sat down with papers in front of him. He asked if he’d bother me if he started working. I told him that it was fine if he moved. That it would be nice to see how he moved more, so I could express that in the painting too. As soon as I had said that he got lost in his work. Completely concentrated on whatever he was writing. I recognized myself in that. He held his pen tightly, wrote with his entire body, not just with his hand of head. I knew that I didn’t have to excuse myself for getting too into a sketch, or for drawing whenever I felt the need to. I felt like a fool for not thinking of him as an artist. It was exactly like I had said: we were on the same boat. I drew the way his hands held that pencil. Tried to show how tightly he held it, tried to draw the pieces of his skin that had gotten white because of the way he held it. His pen almost never left the page. His handwriting was unreadable to me. When thinking he held the pen to his lips for a few seconds. 

We sat working until the record stopped playing it’s songs, and made a noise that reminded me of soft rain. We both looked up, and he seemed as surprised about the time that had passed as I was. He blushed, stood up, and turned the record around. 

‘Sorry, I’m not much of an help,’ he chuckled. 

‘Just being comfortable is a big help, actually, I want  to draw you the way that you really are. That way it’ll turn out the best.’

Not that I’d get to know him well enough. Art like this is money, I had to remind myself of that. It was just money. I didn’t have to put my all into it for it to be good enough. 

I closed my book. ‘I can do the rest at home.’

‘Alright.’

‘Is it okay if I take a few photos though. Front, left, right. Just a few simple ones.’

He nodded while I took out my camera. I took a few where he was the most serious face on, it was almost a frown that appeared on his face. When I checked them his face relaxed again. He was beautiful like that. 

I frowned, he noticed right away. 

‘What’s wrong?’ he asked. 

‘You can.. I don’t know.. You can see that this is not your natural face, man.’ He blushed. ‘Can you try to take on a look that comes more natural for you?- I hope that’s not weird but it feels-’ 

‘I can do it.’ 

‘Yeah?’ 

‘Yeah sure.’

I took out the camera and held it on his face height. At that he smiled brightly, some of his freckles disappearing into his wrinkles. I couldn’t help but smile at that as well. I took his photo. Felt a warm but heavy tornado in my stomach. 

‘Thank you,’ I mumbled. 

‘No problem.’

 

That evening I worked on his sketches some more. It was not really necessary because our meeting would be the next week, but I got idea after idea after idea. This was, of course, not really a problem. It was a lot better than not having a clue what I wanted to draw. 

When I finished the extra drawing details and scribbles, I opened my mail. Marco had send me a mail not longer than an hour ago. It contained the manuscript and a few sentences that sounded like: ‘You don’t have to read this is you don’t want to, or if you don’t have time, or if you have better things to do.´ He said, in that mail, that reading the actual book might give me a better view on what to draw for a cover. I couldn’t help but agree with him. I did wonder if he was allowed to just send people his book like this, and the fact that it was probably not allowed was funny to me. I didn’t know him that well but it was still.. so like him. 

I got up and made myself some coffee, put all my drawings next to my laptop while waiting, and then I started reading. 

Without noticing it I read for hours. I read until my stomach growled at me. It was late, I had read almost half of the story. My legs were sleeping, my mind had a hard time adjusting to the fact I was in the real world  While reading the story I saw Marco. Beautiful Marco (I’ll admit it, he’s beautiful.) I felt for the way Story Marco tried to fit in in with his traditional family, but wouldn’t deny or put aside the fact that he was gay. That’s what Marco had talked about when saying ‘too open- minded’; the character was gay. I loved that it wasn’t (yet) about him falling in love. It was about him being proud by himself. It was about the way his family hated him for it, and how he got them to accept that he’s human, and beautiful. His words and the world he had created, left me even more speechless than his looks had left me. 

I made some risotto, slowly. I thought of Marco while cutting the vegetables. I thought of Marco while staring at the steam coming from the pan. I thought about Marco when I started eating. I opened my laptop, and started reading again. I couldn’t wait until the next time I’d see him.

 

There was a limit to how many times I could draw him, right? Still, why hide all the drawings you have made of someone who you were supposed to draw? This could totally be me doing my job very very well. Not just me showing the slight crush I had developed in a week or the feelings I had experienced while reading his book. 

When he rang the bell I panicked, stood still in the middle of my atelier, and eventually decided to just leave all the drawings the way they were. They wouldn’t mean anything to him; he wouldn’t recognize the style as something special. More than that he didn’t actually know how I usually did my work. That’s what I thought when I walked to the door and opened it. He was grinning like an idiot.

‘Hey Jean,’ 

I put my hand in my neck, smiled nervously. ‘Hey.’

He looked really nice. He was wearing a brown sweater with a white suit shirt underneath. I could see that the first autumn leaves had really gotten to him. I wondered if he liked autumn, because he did look like it. 

‘You look nice.’  For a second I wondered if he could read my mind, or if I had been talking out loud instead of in my head. It took me a while to notice that he was complimenting me, and not the other way around. 

‘What? I- I have my painting clothes on.’ I looked down at my big denim blouse full of painting spot in all kinds of colours. 

‘I like that.’ 

With that he walked inside, inviting himself in. I followed behind him, even though I knew he had no idea where he was going. ‘You’re insane.’ I told him. It made him chuckle. He couldn’t care less about what I called him. 

The first half hour kind of went the same as last time. I got him coffee, and we chatted about everything and nothing. He made me nervous, and I think he noticed it too. 

‘I liked your book.’ I mumbled. 

‘You did?’ he seemed excited about it. 

‘You sound surprised.’ He blushed but didn’t answer that, so I continued. ‘I really, really liked it. Honestly, it really got to me. I think this book might be very important for queer people. Knowing that people are everywhere, just trying to convince other people that they are human and beautiful. That got to me.’ 

Marco stared at me, wide eyes. ‘That means a lot.’ 

Without answering him I walked to my atelier. ‘I’m going to draw something really good for you, Bodt. Your book deserves it.’ 

He grinned brightly at me. I tried to ignore him by taking my painting stuff from the counters. He decided to sit down on the chair in the middle of atelier. ‘Thank yo-’ Marco fell silent for a while, a blush crept over his face. Then I realised he was looking at all the drawings I had made of him. All the different kinds of work I had already made his face into. ‘Wow-’ slipped from his mouth. 

I followed his eyes, stayed silent. 

‘These are really nice, Jean.’ 

‘They’re nothing, just some studies.’ 

He picked out a few that were drawn in my more original style. Portraits with unique colours. Ones that stood out like real artworks, paintings that help my emotions better than my body could. ‘I love these. Doesn’t this style look more like your other work? Are you going to try to do that style? I would love that.’ 

I thought about it. I had told myself not to underestimate him as an artist. Especially now that I had read his work. He was an artist too, who put honest feeling into a paper. I had told myself so many times before: we were in the same boat. 

Because of that I wanted to be honest with him. 

‘I don't know yet. It depends.’

I put a big paper on my aisle and looked at him from behind it. It felt like a safe spot, still I felt like this guy, beautifully freckled, was going to get too close to me. Like he was going to slowly dig through my mind. 

‘On what does it depend?’ 

I blushed, made sure he couldn’t see me behind the paper, mixed some brown paint. ‘I- those portraits are people I know very well, or that made me experience something really good or really bad. I have to- I can’t choose those kind of colours, shapes like that, if I don’t feel enough myself. With customers, I don’t know, I don’t get those kind of feelings.’ 

I could feel Marco blushing from the other side of the room. I had given him too much information, I just hoped he would ask the worst kind of questions because of it. 

I hoped he wouldn’t get cocky because of it. 

‘But I’m.. a little different?’ 

I snorted. ‘I guess.’ 

‘Why is that?’ 

I put my brush to the paper. Bit my lip. ‘Well first off, you’re not a banker or a ceo who got a portrait of himself from the company, who likes to talk about all the profit he’s made.’ 

‘You really get that a lot?’ Alright, that was a safe answer. He took the bait. 

‘You bet. I also get a lot of young children with rich parents. Want their children's faces everywhere in their house.’ 

He chuckled. ‘Now that I can understand a little bit.’ 

‘Of course Freckles understands that,’ I laughed. 

‘What’s so funny about that?’ 

‘You’re just, I don’t know man, you seem like you care a lot. I guess that I linked that to a loving parent right away.’ 

Marco straightened his back. Tried to sit still and focus on how I was drawing him. ‘I do care a lot.’ 

‘I wish I had that.’ 

‘Some people can care easier, it’s to compromise for the people who have a hard time. Maybe that’s just the way it’s supposed to be.’ 

I looked at him. Stared at him, kind of swept away by his way of thinking, trying to play it off as just needing to study his face for the portrait. ‘You say crazy stuff, man.’ 

‘I don’t think I want to take it back.’ 

After that I started working some more. Marco saw my speaker and asked if he was allowed to play some music. I already trusted his taste in music, so I told him to plug his phone on. He came with a lovely playlist full calm songs. I loved his music taste. I guess that’s one thing I knew for sure. 

Drawing him made me happy. His freckles stood out, his jawline was strong, his eyes excited. While drawing him my belly turned. I realised that he was someone I’d make up in my mind, just because I always want to draw unique and interesting people. But I hadn’t made him up. Marco was sitting right in front of me, waiting patiently for my to finish the portrait. He was sitting still, just listening to music, and he was fine like that. 

He let out a happy noise, seemed to have surprised himself.  

I pulled my eyes away from the almost finished first version. ‘What?’

‘I- No- it’s just that.. You were smiling.’ 

‘I was?’ 

‘Yeah. It surprised me a little. It’s amazing to see you enjoy your work.’ 

That surprised me too. I didn’t dare to tell him that I wasn’t usually like this. That making a new work didn’t always excite me like that. 

I kept still. Kept on working. 

Even through I noticed that he felt guilty about saying something about my smile, I didn’t speak of it again. I really wanted him to feel good. I just also really didn’t want to embarrass myself, and I was doing a terrible job.

When I had finished the work he looked really tired, even though I had thought his energy was infinite. 

‘Are you alright? I usually don’t make people sit this long.’ Again, that _ I usually don’t  _ ; everything I said seemed to get down to:  _ you’re different _ . It wasn’t untrue, but it was completely unnecessary to say it that often. ‘Let’s take a break.’

‘Ah sure.’ 

‘You hungry?’ 

He just nodded. 

When in the kitchen he leaned against my table, watched me make coffee. I got some cheese from the fridge and cut it in squares, then I got hummus and a baguette and put them on a big plate all together. At last I put a small bowl with fruit on it. 

‘That looks really nice.’

I dropped one of the grapes I’d been putting in the bowl. ‘Shit-’ 

‘Sorry. Did I surprise you?’ 

‘No, it’s fine.’ I put the plate on the kitchen table and checked if the coffee was ready, which it was, and put that one on the table too. Marco mumbled something about how he liked being here, how nice it all was. 

He sipped his coffee, took a piece of cheese. Smiled while eating. I just stared at his hands. Slowly sipped my coffee, ate some bread. Then I saw a mole on his hand, a small dark one, but one I hadn’t noticed before. ‘You have a mole.’ 

‘Huh?’ 

‘On your hand.’ I looked up at his surprised eyes. ‘I hadn’t seen it when I was drawing your hands.’

‘You really like looking at my hands don’t you?’ 

‘Ah- I- I guess? Sorry.’ 

Marco smiled and shook his head. ‘Here.’ He pushed his hand forward, put it on the table right in front of me. With one finger he touched the side of my hand softly, stroked it a little. 

‘Make sure you don’t miss a thing,’ he grinned. I took his hand softly, put it in my hands. I caressed the side of his hand, stared at every freckle he had on them. I was embarrassed with myself, still I kept going. ‘Maybe you should draw my hands as the cover.’ 

‘Your boss said portrait.’

‘My boss would wants me to choose.’ I looked up at Marco. Stared into his eyes. He was blushing, but seemed satisfied with my embarrassment. ‘And I want you to do whatever you think is right. I trust you.’ 

I let go of his hand. ‘Thank you.’ 

‘After this meeting, will you be working on your own?’ He kept his hand in place. As if he wanted me to hold it again. 

‘Yes, I’ll just contact you about the final work.’ 

‘Don’t be a stranger. I can give opinions, or I can help, you can always ask me to come again.’ 

I just nodded. 

  
  


 

 

**II**

  
  


I am weak. I already knew that, but it got rubbed into my face again. I’m not proud of the way I handles the situation. But I don’t complain about being lonely anymore. 

I painted all kinds of paintings of his hands, his face. I drew the way I saw his entire body in my dreams. ’m not proud of those dreams, in which I undress him, either. I’m proud of the works he made me make, sure. I’m proud of the way his face turned out every single time. It looked like him, no doubt. The way I felt about his was like a golden glow on top of the painting. 

I had told him that I had to feel something about someone to make work like this, back then. That was one of the parts I was ashamed of. 

The other part was:  sending my painting to his agency. A scan, the real thing, a picture beforehand. I send all of those things to his agency, the way they asked me to. But I didn’t even send him a text. 

Yeah, that’s definitely the worst part. 

 

I put the paintings with his face on them in my car, next to paintings of my mother, painting of Mikasa when we were young, paintings of Mikasa and Eren fluid and melting into one person, paintings of Armin smiling. Those of Marco were in overload. I hated to see that but they were, but it was good work though. They deserved to get a beautiful place, that’s the least I could do now. 

 

The car ride to the exhibition space was lonelier than I had been in quite a while. Sitting next to all those people I had put on a canvas, but failed to stay in contact with. I should have felt happy; getting a chance to put up all my art in a gallery was an awesome chance. People paying money for my work while drinking free champagne was what I had always wanted. This was completely different than shitty commissions. If I sold a few pieces I wouldn’t have to do those commissions for a while. That should have made me happy.  

 

It was a small event. There was a facebook event, it was put on some flyers, there was a small piece on my work in the local newspaper. It was enough. The right people would come, because the gallery was well known. The people who were interested in art, and people with money, would come. People who knew me from high school, people I had met, my exes, they wouldn’t even know that I had the damn event. It was the perfect amount of publicity for me. 

 

I stopped in front of the gallery, parked my car. First I got out without any paintings, walked into the white building to let the owner know that I would start putting up my stuff. He laughed and told me to do go right ahead. He also told me where the coffee machine was.  When I walked back out there was someone having a smoke in front of the gallery. He was looking at my painting packed car. 

‘What the fuck are you doing here?’ I called. 

‘ The fuck do you think I’m doing here?’ Eren yelled back. I rolled my eyes. ‘You thought I didn’t know that you would drag all these paintings into the gallery yourself?’ 

‘So? You decided to come watch me?’ 

‘I know you’re happy I’m here. I’m going to give you some of my time for free, be grateful.’ 

‘Gee thanks, I feel really special.’ 

He smiled, punched my arm softly. ‘I’m just proud.’ 

‘Shut up, cheesy.’

‘Fuck off.’ 

Eren followed me inside, a big grin on his face. I was grateful that he had remembered that the exhibition was today. I was grateful he was still trying to be a friend for me. Though when we walked to my car I realised something; that car was filled with paintings even Eren, who used to come my house every other week, had never seen before. If he was already questioning why I had dropped off this planet this would only making a thousand times worse. 

I tried to think of words to prepare him, or maybe an excuse, but I had none. 

Eren opened my car and I carefully got the first painting out of there. It was the one of him and Mikasa. He laughed. ‘This thing keeps creeping me out man.’ 

‘Y-yeah.’ 

He leaned over and got the other painting out of there. It was one of Marco’s hands, not too obvious. Eren stared at it for a while but eventually just mumbled something like: ‘Oh, a new one.’ 

We got the paintings inside and moved back to the car. Eren walked quickly, had moved my painting before and knew how to be careful and fast at the same time. 

‘Who’s hands were those?’ he asked while walking out. 

‘Someone I painted for a commision.’ 

‘Doesn’t look like a commission.’ 

‘Whatever.’ I mumbled. I had nothing better to say, even though I knew that he was going to see all the other paintings of Marco as well. 

Eren got two new paintings from the car, carefully pulled them through the doors. This time there were two paintings of Marco. The first one was him grinning, sitting up straight. The other one was a close up of his face, his lips as the focus, his freckles smutched over the canvas, slowly fading to brown. This was a more abstract one.

‘Alright. Yes. A guy you did a commission for.’ 

‘Shut up.’ 

Eren started walking towards the building again, didn’t look at me as he started questioning me; knew I wouldn’t give a quick or easy answer.  ‘Is he your new boyfriend?’ 

‘No, of course not. Hell no.’ 

‘Why are you acting like that’s a weird question? You have three paintings of him.’ Oh fuck, he had a damn storm coming. ‘You’re usually not the kind of person to just paint random people.’ 

‘Maybe I changed.’ 

‘Maybe you’re in love.’ 

‘Could’ve been something else, maybe I was pissed off at him.’ 

‘Oh come on Jean! You act like I’ve never seen your art before. There’s a mood to it, a feeling. You really think you can pass this one off as annoyance or whatever?’

I sighed. ‘Okay. Alright, I get it. I got a crush, it’s no big deal.’ 

Eren put the painting down. Stood still in the middle of the room, stared at me. ‘Why is it not a big deal? You haven’t been in love with someone since forever.’ 

‘It doesn’t matter. I cut him off.’ 

I walked back to my car, avoiding Eren who was still in the middle of the damn gallery. When Eren realised I wasn’t going to turn around to explain he ran after me.

‘What the fuck do you mean ‘I cut him off’?’  

‘Exactly what I said, Eren.’

‘You’re a prick, I hope you know that.’ 

‘Surprise: I do.’ 

Eren rolled his eyes. He didn’t want my self hate, he wanted an explanation. I got another painting out of the car. My grandma from France. Eren got a small piece out of there too. It was Marco, very abstract, but very naked too. 

‘Jean..’ 

I bit my lip, felt blood rushing to my head. ‘Can we please not.’

Eren stayed quiet. Actually listened to me for once, got the painting from the car and quietly took it into the building. For a minute we were both quiet. That silence was so heavy that I almost wished for Eren to speak again. Whatever he’d ask about, it couldn’t be worse than silence about the situation. 

We both put the painting down. 

‘So,’ Eren spoke up. ‘Tell me about him.’ 

‘Do I have to?’

‘Yes.’ 

I started walking back again. ‘He’s a writer. They asked me to design his cover, you know? To make an artwork for the front. I only talked to him a few times.’ 

‘That doesn’t make it any less real right?’ 

‘Doesn’t it?’ Honestly, I thought it did. I was someone who always thought you need a long history with someone to fall in love.’ 

‘So what happened?’ 

‘Uhm, I read his book, and that’s when it started getting bad. It was beautiful. He wrote about being accepted in a family as a gay man, but the story was soft and human. It wasn’t that the family was bad; it was just that they didn’t understand. God Eren, I can’t really put it into words, but he.. he wrote that and.. that made me feel, understood? Which will probably happen with everyone who reads the damn book but- I don’t know, he was right in front of me. He sent me the manuscript himself. I guess that made it different.’ 

‘I know your painting of your grandma is about that too; about her seeing you as an innocent kid who just needs to get his first good girlfriend.’ 

‘Yes. Yes, and I love her, and I don’t want anyone to hate her for thinking of me that way but- I guess- I wanted to show what Marco showed in his book. That it’s complicated, that’s it’s real, and that we can get out of that place.’ 

‘He sounds like a great guy.’ 

I breath in. Swallowed loudly. ‘Yes. Yeah he is.’ 

‘So you should have tried to hold out longer. I know you’re anxious, but pushing people away is not the answer.’ 

Eren took another painting away. I followed behind him. ‘ I might try texting him, when this thing is over.’

Eren just nodded. I know he had more to say but that he knew it wouldn’t help. He was right; I should have tried holding onto the beautiful freckled man longer. He deserved that. Marco deserve way better than me. But if one version of me had even a small a chance at being good enough, it would be the me who had actually tried. That wasn’t the one I was right now. 

Lost in thoughts I followed Eren. Eren didn’t talk about it again. He told me he had invited Mikasa and Armin to come, that he had seen Historia and Ymir hit the ‘going’ button on facebook, that Sasha was working late. He asked for how long the exhibition would be in this building. I told him it would be a week, but that the opening was today. We chatted away while we brought all the paintings inside, put them at the right places. 

 

Eren and I went out to eat something before the event would start. We went for some simple noodles in a shop we used to go to every week, when we were in college. After dinner we fixed some last things in the galery. The owner let me choose between some music playlists, I went for jazz, and we decided on whether the lights at certain places should be on or not. He asked me if I wanted to speech. I told him I would rather not. He asked me if interviews were fine, I told him that they were. 

Eren said I was a fool for not speaking at my own show. 

 

The first people to come were Historia and Ymir. They started chatting with me about my new work while other people walked in. I nervously glanced at everyone who walked in. Wondered if they could mean something for me, if they wanted to buy some of my work.

‘Jean, you gotta fucking stop being so nervous.’ Ymir said loudly. 

‘I’m not.’ 

‘Stop looking at the door. Let’s have a good fucking time hm? Let’s get shitfaced on that free champagne!’ 

I swallowed, nodded, while Historia handed me a glass. ‘Might have to do interviews later on.’

‘Fuck interviewers.’ Could have figured that Ymir would say that. She never wanted to do interviews about her work. ‘Right, Jean?’ 

‘So who’s the new work about?’  Historia asked, suddenly. To be expected, really, but sudden. 

Eren rolled his eyes, mumbled: ‘Don’t get him started on it. He messed it up.’ 

‘Oh. Sorry, Jean.’  

‘I shook my head.’ 

‘Haven’t been a dick or anything, just didn’t contact him and pushed him away a little.’ 

Ymir threw an arm around me. ‘So there’s a chance?’ 

I bit my lip. ‘Uh- No- I don’t- He’s really amazing. I’m kind of-’ 

‘There’s a chance.’ Historia answered for me. ‘I mean, you’re cool and good looking. You’ll be fine.’ 

‘Babe- you can’t just tell other people that. You’re supposed to think I’m the only cool and good looking one.’ Ymir complained while leaning over to her girlfriend again. 

I laughed. Finally I laughed, stopped worrying about what people would ask about the Marco artworks. They were artworks. Even if I didn’t dare to ask Marco for a date, he had given me the chance to create beautiful work. 

And they were right. They were. There was a chance. 

I could ask him for coffee. 

When Mikasa and Armin had arrived aswell we started walking through the gallery. They asked some questions, but the main things they already knew. We walked slowly. They stopped in front of the paintings of Marco for a long time, studying them. Those were the only works no one had seen before, the one ones that were not up on my site yet. They were completely new for everyone.

I had thought most of them would stop to talk when we got to the painting where Marco was naked, the Marco from my dreams, but they didn’t. They stood still in front of the painting of Marco’s hands holding his pen. The one I liked best. 

‘This is really-’ Armin stopped himself, then walked closer to the painting and squinted his eyes. ‘This one really has something.. It’s really intense, Jean.’ 

‘I agree.’ Historia mumbled. ‘May I ask what you felt? What this painting is about?’ 

‘Eh..’ I stared at the painting. Bit my lip. ‘Maybe being understood.. yeah, I think it’s that.’ 

‘Huh, that’s amazing.’ She mumbled. 

The rest followed, stared at the painting from nearby. 

 

Somewhere I got dragged away for a small interview. I just answered some simple questions. How I got to drawing. How I came up with an idea for the painting. If I had artists that inspired me. All kinds of stuff like that. 

‘Is there music that inspires you, music you can draw on really well?’ 

The whole time I was stumbling over my words. That was fine. I knew what to answer, it just didn’t always come out as planned. ‘Eh, Chet Baker, I think. Tom Waits.’ 

‘A certain song?’ 

I smiled. ‘All The World Is Green, Almost blue.’ 

He grinned. ‘Coincidence that those have colours?’ 

‘Yes. These are just.. sad songs, that make me feel understood.’ 

The interviewer nodded, wrote that down. ‘So about your models, how do you choose them?´  

‘That’s quite something. I- I really-’ 

‘Oh!- I’m sorry that I’m interrupting you.’ Her face lit up, she looked at the other side of the room. I tried to see what what she was looking at in that crowd of people. ‘I see your main model there. Do you think he could tell me about his exp-’ 

‘Where?’ 

‘In front of-’ I stopped listening to her; he was standing in front of a painting of himself. The one where he was grinning brightly. He stood still. While other people walked from one painting to another, he stood still for a long time in front of that painting. I wondered if he had done the same with the other paintings. 

Marco. Marco. Marco. 

I wanted to tell him that I was sorry for putting his face on every wall. I couldn’t tell if he was upset by looking at his face. I could imagine that he felt stared at. That he felt naked, and seen through. I didn’t want to make him feel like that. I wanted to show everyone what I had seen in him. 

He looked at the title of the painting. I knew he would only see his own name there. Marco. Nothing more or less than that. 

Marco finally stepped away from the painting, looked back, straight into my eyes. ‘Excuse me-’ I mumbled, not really looking at the interviewer. ‘I really need a break, can we finish later on?’ 

‘Oh-’ I could hear the surprise in her voice, but I couldn’t rip my eyes away from Marco. I couldn’t just let him stand there. ‘Sure.’ 

With that I stood up. Walked towards Marco quickly. I didn’t know what to say first.  _ Sorry,  _ probably. He kept looking at me, waited for me to come closer. 

When I stood in front of him he smiled. It was a confused, awkward smile. It was a smile nonetheless. 

‘I-’ I tried to start. Thought about what to say again. Sorry is not a bad word. I could say that. Should definitely say that.  ‘Marco- I just-’ 

Marco smiled at me, silenced me with that glance. ‘I really liked how the cover turned out. I’m really glad that you were the one who made it, Jean.’

‘You are?’ 

‘You sound surprised.’ 

‘I could have shown it to you beforehand.’ 

Marco looked at my hands. ‘That would have been really nice, but I trusted your choice.’ 

‘Oh.’ Yes oh. 

‘I- uh- I see that you painted me some more.’ 

‘I’m sorry. That must make you awkward. I- I didn’t think you would know I had a exhibition. Not that, that it’s better to keep it a secret- just-’ 

Marco took my hand. The only thing he had touched before, and it reminded me of how I wanted to be held by him. Of how warm he was. ‘I’m not mad. I’m just really glad that I read you had a event on time. It would have sucked if I had never seen all these paintings.’ 

‘I’m sorry.’

‘It’s fine. Do you want to walk around?’ 

‘If you’re fine with me being embarrassed as fuck.’ 

He grinned brightly, making my god damn heart sink. ‘Don’t worry, I think that’s just fine.’

‘Thanks, real comforting.’ 

He chuckled and started walking on to the next painting. He looked at it for a long time. I just stared at him. I watched his eyes move, studying every bit of the painting. He stayed quiet, walked up to the next painting again. 

‘You know, Jean, I really meant what I said about your art: it’s beautiful. I wish you would never have to make stupid commissions for companies.’ 

I chuckled. ‘You know what? Good things might come from commissions.’ 

His eyes went wide and a grin appeared on his face. ‘Like what?’ 

‘Like- shut up, you know what I mean. Be happy that I said something so cheesy.’

‘Alright, alright.’ He squeezed my hand and dragged me along to the next painting. I followed him, made sure I was close to him. His hand was slowly warming my hand. 

While he was staring at the painting other people were staring at him. They thought he was a model, my lover, and Marco must have realised that. He realised that people were looking at us, getting the wrong idea, and he didn’t really care. He held my hand. He did whatever he wanted. 

This was the Marco that I had dreamt of. 

We stood still in front of the painting of him naked for some time. He grinned. I blushed. ‘That’s.. p-pretty accurate?’ 

I snorted. ‘Thanks, I guess.’

‘But-’ I looked at him in horror. ‘I have more freckles than that.’ 

‘Yeah, do you?’ 

He turned around and stepped closer to me. ‘Sure do. Specially on my hips.’ 

‘I’ll draw you more accurate next time.’ 

I looked at how his fingers played with mine. He was staring at our hands, and I studied his face. When he finally did look up, he looked straight into my eyes. He wasn’t fazed by it; I could feel my heart leap. 

Marco brought his mouth a little closer to my ear, as if wanting to tell me something important in this busy room. ‘I- I guess I’ll make sure you can.’ I felt his breath my neck, felt like he would kiss it if he could. 

At that moment though, Ymir walked by with three glasses of champagne, and yelled:  ‘This is not what  _ fucking up _ looks like, Jean!’ And fuck. Fuck. For once she was right. Marco wouldn’t allow me to fuck up, or distance myself like I thought I had done.

 

More interviewers were pestering me, more people were leaving, we had seen every painting, marco had let go of my hand. At first Marco talked to some of my friends. They seemed to be having a decent conversation; not completely outing me. Not that I could do anything about it, because I was taking to future buyers about prices and shit- everything was fine. If they outed me, I wouldn’t give a fuck. Everything was alright. 

When I had finished talking to one of the buyers Marco came up to be with his coat under his arm. ‘I’m leaving.’ 

‘I have something for you,’ I told him. 

He smiled, surprised, but nodded anyway. When I started walking to the backroom he followed me without any questions. The room was filled with boxes, random art, a coffee machine. It smelled weird, like dust, paint, and something I couldn’t place.

‘It’s nothing big,’  I warned him.

I got my case with drawings from underneath a big table, looked through the works, and eventually and got out the first drawing I had done of him. The one where he was holding the cup of coffee he had made for me. I wondered if he’d recognize it. ‘From when we-’ 

He perked up. ‘The very first drawing.’ 

He took it from my hands and studied it carefully. 

‘It’s rough,’ I mumbled. 

‘It’s perfect, Jean.’ 

‘I hope so. You deserve more than I have given you.’ 

Marco looked up, put the painting on top of the table, took my cheek so I was looking at him. He only held me with one hand, but I felt like I couldn’t move. ‘You really think that?’  

I nodded. 

‘How could you think that? You have given me so much.’ 

I snorted ‘Like what?’ 

‘Like, the most beautiful cover for my book. Like seeing me through eyes that, apparently, think I’m beautiful. Like listening to good music with me. Like drawing me in the style you have reserved for special people-’ 

‘You’ve had too much champa-’ 

‘Like making me feel like I’m understood. You made m-’ ’

I don’t know what came over me, but at that I pushed my hand into his hair and lead his lips towards mine. Slammed my lips against his, rough, but he had said exactly what I needed to hear and I couldn’t not kiss him anymore. He didn’t seem bothered. He moved with me without hesitation. He kissed back instantly, didn’t seem taken back when I opened my mouth against his. He gripped my neck. Held it like he didn’t want to let go of it. 

I had thought I didn’t have a chance with him. 

I had thought I had pushed him away forever. 

What a difference a day makes, right? 

His hand in my neck was pulling me closer, if that was even possible. His finger caressing the side of my ear. I shivered, moaned softly. Panting. 

Marco pulled back, put his forehead against me. I held his hips, softly pulling them hips towards mine. He stared into my eyes, intensely. ‘Jean-’ 

‘Hm?’ 

‘We need to stop this.’  My heart fell down into my knees. I pulled away from him. Marco pulled me back. ‘‘No- Jean- I mean.. You have to talk to journalists, to buyers, I have to walk home, your guests.. I’m.. I’m going to get a boner if we keep this up and - uhh-’ 

I chucked, his warmth spreading through me, making me feel happy once again. ‘Okay, alright. You’re right.’ 

‘This can wait. Tonight's your night. This.. this will stay.’ 

‘Oh..’  

He sighed slowly.  ‘Don’t think I don’t want you. Don’t ever.. I’ve spent the last weeks dreaming about this.’ 

‘You have?’ 

‘Get that smug look of your face. I know you have too.’

‘Well, you saw a gallery full of your own face, so I can’t exactly hide it. ’ 

‘I wrote things..- you’ll- you can read them sometime.’ 

‘Don’t leave. You can go to my house, if you want to.’ 

Marco chuckled. ‘I’m not going to stay at your house all alone, I can’t be comfortable. Come to my house when you’re finished, if you’re not too tired.’ 

‘That’s cool. I’m not tired, not anymore. I feel like I can wrestle a bear right now.’ 

He laughed. ‘Please don’t, I want you to arrive alive and well.’ 

I watched Marco leave, a big brown coat on, a red beanie on his head.  He gave me a short wave. 

As soon as he stepped out of the door Connie ran up to me. ‘Nooo! Jean, how could you let him leave! You guys were being so cute too! Did you see the absolute bedroom eyes he was giving you?!’ 

‘Connie you’re drunk.’ 

‘And you’re in love.’ 

‘So? So are you.’ 

‘Please, don’t tell Sasha I’m in love with her. It’s a secret, bro.’ 

I laughed. ‘You guys have been married for two years.’ 

‘Okay! Besides the point right now, Jean! - why did you let loverboy leave?’ 

‘He had to get home Connie.’ Connie pulled an ugly face. The rest of the group came walking up to us as well. They couldn’t even walk straight. I was not even a little on their level. ‘Anyway, shouldn’t you guys go home too?’

‘We’re staying around until everyone leaves, so we can celebrate!’ 

‘Oh-’

‘Jup, tonight we’re going to ruin our bodies as a toast to you.’ Some of the others agreed, laughing.

‘I- uh- I can’t.’

‘What why?’ Eren and Connie yelled at the same time. 

‘I have an interview to finish.’

‘Well duh! That’s why we’re staying around,’ Connie went on. 

I scratched my neck. ´Still, I- We can ruin our bodies another time. I don’t know, as a toast to someone else?’ 

‘What?! Jean, you better have your ass a very good excuse because I can’t think of anything better than getting absolutely shitfaced.’

I blushed. Connie, the dense asshole, didn’t even notice. ‘I do.’ 

‘Well?’ 

‘I promised- Uh.. I promised Marco that I’d go to his place when this was finished. Anyways, it can take a while, you guys should go on without me.’ 

Eren chuckled. ‘Go on without you sounds like you feel sorry for not coming, but we know you don’ t, because this boy is getting lai-’ 

‘Can you shut the fuck up?’ 

 

Eventually they did leave without me, and I was finally able to do some of my interviews. They asked me about he models. I answered them honestly. I told them what Marco had told me: ‘The freckled model has given me a lot of insights in a short time. He understands me, and he makes me understand myself.’

 

I put a card with  _ not for sale  _ on the painting of Marco’ s hands, writing. 

 

It was late when everything was finished up and I finally arrived at Marco’s green door. I was nervous. Ringing the bell made my heart jump. I noticed that Marco had a dorky old name plate that looked like it had been his grandparents. ‘Bodt’, it just said. I stared at the name as I waited for him to open the door. The air coming out of my mouth was visible. It was getting cold at night. I needed to buy a new scarf.

He was quick though. He opened the door with a grin. He was wearing a pyjama pants, red with stripes on it. On top of his pyjama pants was a big black sweater. He hadn’t dressed up for me, hadn’t tried to put on anything sexy. I liked that, that made him sexier than I could have expected him. His hair was mess.

‘Hey,’ he said. 

‘Hi.’ 

He opened the door for me. ‘Are you tired?’ 

‘Really fucking tired, actually. I wish I was really energetic right now, but it was a long day.’ 

Marco turned around, pushed me against a wall softly, hugged me tightly. ‘That’s only logical. You should rest.’ 

‘I want you to have fun.’

Marco chuckled with his lips against my ear. ‘Are you saying naps are not fun?’ 

‘Hmm.. no, naps are a good time.’

‘Good, cuddly naps are even better.’ 

I chuckled. ‘Yeah. Yeah, you’ve got a point. Maybe we should sleep.’

Marco let go of me, I was cold without him against my body. His house was not one of the warmest and I could still feel the cold autumn air against my cheeks. ‘I’m going to make you some tea, and we’re going to drink it in bed.’ There was no question. He was going to make me rest. 

So I just nodded, followed behind him. He put on the boiler and got out big mugs. One was red and one was dark green. He put in a tea bag I didn’t recognize. ‘You like tea, right?’ 

‘Of course.’

He stepped closer to me, so close that I felt myself hit the kitchen counter, and then he softly kissed my cheek. ‘Thank you for coming here,’ he told me. 

‘Thank you for coming to my thing. It means a lot.’ 

He kissed my cheek again, again and again. Every time he kissed a little bit closer to my mouth. Eventually he started pecking my lips. I returned the kiss with a warm face from his breath, from my embarrassment, my happiness. We stood there, simply sharing slow and innocent kisses, while the water in the boiler made more and more noise. 

Eventually the boiler clicked to let us know that the water was done, and Marco pulled away from me. Mumbling something about tea. Or just the word tea. I stood still and tried to progress that this beautiful freckled man had given me so many kisses. I needed more of them to fully realise that, yes, kissing was a thing we could do now. 

Marco picked up the red cup, I took the green one, and then he lead me to his bedroom. He had small lights in his room, but enough to see. It made the room look cosy. Through the window you could see the street and it’s dimmed streetlights. The moon was small this night, but she was bright. 

I put the mug on the nightstand, Marco threw a sweater and a big shirt my way. ‘You want sweatpants too?’ I shook my head, couldn’t sleep with sweatpants on anyway. When I had a pyjama on I sat down on his bed, he got all his blankets and pulled them over me. 

I chuckled. ‘Cozy.’ 

‘Right?’Marco got under the covers with me. He snuggled into the blankets, feeling completely at home with the idea of me in his bed. He carefully pushed his legs against mine. Hissed when he did so. ‘You’re cold.’ Even though he said that, he didn't move away, just pushed the rest of his legs against mine.  He held his tea in his hands for a few seconds, and then caressed my legs with his warm hands. The warmth felt incredible, I moaned softly.

While playing footsie in silence, we drank our tea. It was a nice spiced tea with honey. I liked that. His feets were warm against mine. 

Somewhere he put the last bit of his tea down on the nightstand and started caressing my arms, my hands. It was an innocent touch, it seemed, but it made me excited to touch him more. I put my tea down too. 

‘Did you like the tea?’ 

I nodded. ‘Yeah.. I really do. Just- l- I like you more right now.’ 

Marco grinned, pulled me closer by my neck and kissed me softly. His lips were still warm. While kissing he pulled me closer by my hips, lead me into his lap like that. I put one leg on one side and the other on the other side of his hips. I tried to do so while keeping our lips locked, something that is harder than it seems. 

Marco pulled back, stared at me for a second. I stared back at him, into his deep brown eyes. He smiled, getting laughing wrinkles next to his eyes because of it, and then pulled the blanket over my shoulders again. 

‘It’s just going to fall again,’ I mumbled, my lips still against his.

‘Let’s lay down.’ 

He took the lead an laid us down underneath the blanket. He even pulled the blanket over our head, and searched for my mouth in the dark. I followed him. Clumsily followed all his movements. It felt good that we couldn’t see each other, and that we had to focus on feeling each other. His hands roamed over my body. I pushed down his pyjama pants, so I could feel more of his skin against mine. He kissed me deep, I softly digged my nails into his hips.

‘You’re beautiful,’ he breath out.

‘You can’t see me, idiot.’ 

‘I can feel it.’ He kissed my neck. I softly pushed the blanket off our heads so we could get more air. He pushed his hips forward, his hard on shamelessly pushed against mine. He was breathing into my ear, the next second he was breathing into my mouth. 

I just kept on trying to pull him closer. I wanted him as close as he could be, but we were already wrapped up against each other, we had our tongues in each others mouths. 

I pulled down my underwear, Marco followed me right away by doing the same. We could be closer by getting rid of our clothes. That was the only way. At first we just rubbed against each other, carrassed and pulled each other, kissing each other as if taking time to breath would kill us. But somewhere he softly asked: ‘Will you turn around for me?’ and I fucking whimpered. I whimpered, nodded and did as he had asked me. He whispered sweet words into my ear, then he got the lube and condom out of his nightstand. 

He fingered me slowly, sweetly. Usually I was not in for soft and sweet sex like this. Honestly, even cuddling with someone before going to sleep was not something I had done that often. But here I  the sex felt soft like that and it was sweet. 

‘Do you think this is-’ 

‘Yeah.. yeah it’s fine.’ 

Marco licked my neck slowly, then he got his fingers out of me and pushed his hard on into my entrance slowly. I breath in quickly. He stroked my neck, licked my ear. He whispered. ‘I won’t hurt you. Tell me if it hurts.’ 

I shook my head, relaxed my body. Whispered: ‘Marco.’

‘Yeah?’ 

‘I want you.’ 

That did it. ‘Good,’ he said, and with that he pushed himself inside of me. He pulled me closer to him by the hips, I yelled out, moaned loudly. He pushed himself inside of me, rougher with every thrust. 

‘You’re so beautiful.’ he told me. I just moaned in return. I moaned his name, I moaned begs, I moaned sweet words. 

‘I can’t believe I have you..’ He pushed inside of me even harder, let his fingers slide over my neck and pushed them inside of my mouth. I sucked on them, moaned against them.

I couldn’t think of anything else than his touch. His fingers, wet from my savilla, on my throat. His other hard holding my hip, probably going to leave bruises, and that felt goof too. 

I leaned forward for him, so that he could fuck me harder. He gripped my hair and pulled it softly. Whispered that I was beautiful. I cried out in return.

‘Ah, Jean- you’re so- fuck.. I gotta cum.’  

‘Do it- it’s ah- I can’t hold it either-  

He pushed into me even rougher than he had before. With his last rough thrusts he pulled my hair roughly, moaning louder with every single thrust. 

‘Ah fuck-’ I moaned, shivering. 

‘Ah- you’re amazing.’ Marco stopped moving. For a second he stayed like that, wrapped up against my back, sweaty from the sex. He kissed the middle of my neck lazily, breath loudly. 

We got ourselves cleaned up and quickly got back to bed. Marco laid himself down against me right away, wrapping both of his arms around me tightly. ‘Can you hug while sleeping?’ he asked me. 

‘Never really liked that before, but we can cuddle before we go to sleep.’ 

‘Yeah..’ he kissed my ear, talked softly. ‘You must be tired.’

‘You’re too fuckin’ nice.’

‘Maybe I just like you.’ 

I chuckled. ‘I gathered.’

He snuggled his nose against my neck. ‘How? That was supposed to be a secret.’ 

‘I guess I noticed when you put your penis i-’

‘Jean!’ he laughed. I smirked, and felt him relax with a smile on his face, pulling me against him even tighter, even if that wasn’t exactly possible. ‘You’re the one who painted me naked.’

‘Yeah but you were right.. m-more freckles. I’ll be more accurate next time.’ 

‘I’ll even model for you if you want to.’ 

I took his the hand that was laying on my chest and pushed my fingers through the openings between his’.  ‘I don’t think that would help my concentration, actually.’ 

He chuckled. ‘Hmm.. just study me closely now.’ 

‘My eyes are closed.’ 

‘Feel me, then.’ 

‘I do.. You’re warm.’ 

He chuckled warmly, low, then snuggled against me even closer. I could feel his breath against my ear, listened to it with my full attention. I tried to figure out his breathing pace, compared it to mine.

 

It took me a while to realise this was not my house. I don’t know why the first thing I noticed was that the light was brighter. Because the second thing was definitely more surprising: there were arms wrapped around me, and that my leg was laying between someone else's legs. I noticed that it was really warm. That this was my first time, ever, that I had stayed in someone's arms the whole night. It was the first time that I hadn’t woken up a thousand times. I wasn’t nervous and sweaty. I was just warm. 

Marco was still asleep. His mouth was half-open. I squeezed by arms out of his and brought my hand up to his cheek, stroked his freckled cheek. Marco moaned very softly. 

‘Goodmorning.’ I whispered. 

He opened his eyes slowly. Stared at me. Seemed to take me in, as if he had to realise I was laying in his bed all over again. He kept quiet, just stroked my hair, my back, held a soft smile for me. He seemed happy. He seemed to feel safe. 

‘Coffee.. I’ll get you coffee.’ 

‘You’re fucking amazing.’ 

He smiled tiredly and got up. Beside his bed he had a pair of woolen slippers. He gave me a pair of thick socks. He moved in slow motion. ‘The kitchen floor is cold as fuck.’ I remembered his kitchen floor being made of brown tiles. I could imagine them being icey.  I followed him down to the kitchen slowly. He got out a filter and some coffee, and started pouring the water. 

‘Did you sleep well?’ he asked while watching the water sink.

I dared to cuddle him from behind, surprised myself by doing so. ‘Hmm amazing.’ 

He poured some more water on top of the coffee, watched it with his full concentration. ‘I have something to show you.’ 

‘You do?’ 

‘Yeah.’

He handed the water boiler to me, and walked up to his table. There he picked up one of the books. I tried not to watch him, poured some more water into the filter. 

‘Here it is.’ he said. 

I put the boiler down, stared at what he was holding. It was prototype of the book. The first version. My art and title design on the cover, proudly, a photo of him on the back. It was a really nice photo, one where he had even more of a tan and smiled happily. It was beautiful. You could see it was not the last version, but it was the most amazing one to me. 

‘This is really nice.’

‘I know, right? It fits really nicely.’ 

‘Amazing.’   
He poured the last bit of water. Smiled a mischievous smile. ‘You can see that you made that with a lot of love.’ 

‘Pff-’ I snorted. ‘Sh-shut up.’ 

‘What, is that untrue?’ 

‘Well, I guess not.’ 

He grinned, then he got the filter away from the pot and poured us two cups of coffee. ‘You need to learn to accept my cheesy lines.’ 

‘At least let me have my coffee first, damn.’ 

He laughed and handed me my coffee. We walked towards the living room and sat down on the couch together. His living room didn’t have an television. He just had a lot of bookshelves and the record player I had heard before. He pulled a blanket on top of our cold feet, stroked them strongly, just to make them warm. I smiled and breathed into my hot coffee. His was waiting to become colder on the table. 

‘Do you have any plans today?’ he asked. 

‘Ugh- getting rest.’ 

Marco smiled. ‘Can I, maybe, help with that?’ 

‘You’re doing a pretty good job so far, so I guess you’re hired.’ 

Now he was laughing. He pinched my foot. ‘Thanks.’ 

‘No but really, if you’re not busy we can get rest together.’ 

‘I need to reread my column, but that’s not that much work.’ I sipped my coffee. It was strong and bitter. I liked his taste in coffee. ‘Maybe I could read you some of the poems I wrote in the past few weeks.’ 

‘Oh?’ 

‘Yeah, you deserve that, after I’ve seen all your work about me.’

I chuckled, stroked his hand softly. ‘I feel a new book coming.’ 

‘As long as you’ll make the cover,’ he laughed. 

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments make me super happy! 
> 
> My IG =  
> @theekom
> 
> My Tumblr =  
> fanfics . @snk-words  
> personal . @alternateuniverse-coffeeshops


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